YSIDE 
R S E S 



Wm& 



•^:-" 



mm 



CLYDE BROWNE 



BAYSIDE VERSES 



C I, Y D K BROWNE 




FROM THK PRESS OF 
THE HUMBOLDT STANDARD 
EUREKA, CALIFORNIA 
I903 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Receiver 

SEP 9 1903 

Copyright Entry 

CLASS O^ XXc. No 

COPY B. 



To the Memory of 
CARROLL CARRINGTON 

This Booklet 

Is Respectfully Dedicated 

By 

His Pupil in Letters. 



Entered According to Act oi Congress 

In the Year 1903 

With the Librarian at Washington, D. C, 

By Clyde Browne. 



APOLOGY. 

MHILE pining in the 
Redwood Land, 
In sundry lonely 
hours, 
I idly took my pen in 
hand 
To try my rhyming pow'rs. 

Strive as I might to frame a thought 

That others might enjoy, 
My meditations conjured naught 

To please one — nor annoy. 

But ever by the changing tide, 
That waits to bear me home, 

The rhymes would rough-shod o'er me 
ride — 
Enough to All a tome. 

So I, perforce, have given here 
The thoughts that seemed the best, 



To try and keep them ever near, 
Though I forget the rest. 

So read them, if you care to, friend, 

And think along with me. 
Don't be too harsh, when comes "The 
End," 

With Truly yours, C. B. 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

Apology 5 

A One Time Home of Grant 9 

The Maker of Tamales 17 

The Old Craft and the New 21 

The Peninsula 24 

On Steamer Day 26 

The Gull on the Pile 28 

The Redwoods in the Bay 29 

Humboldt's '"Pleasant" Clime 30 

Unlucky Jim 31 

My Brilliant Poem 33 

The Forbidden Land 34 

Their One Regret 37 

L' Envoy 3S 



BAYSIDE VERSES 



A ONE TIME HOME OF GRANT. 



m 



STRANGER on the Hum- 
boldt Bay, 
Who might, on this, a mod- 
ern day, 
Desire to find in all the 
West 
The spot of greatest interest, 
Would never pick on one that here 
Surmounts a hill remote and drear, 
Where in the stages of decay 
A ruined house fast molds away. 

Nor would he dream that rotting frame 
Once had a man of such great fame 
As U. S. Grant as resident, 
Before he served as President. 
And yet it did. But few remain 
Who knew him here when he was plain, 
Plain Captain Grant, and those will say 
But little of that early day 



10 BAYSIDF VERSES 

When Grant was here in manhood's 

prime 
And here remained a two years' time. 

Upon that day the ruined frame 
Was proud to own a prouder name. 
Fort Humboldt then was better kept, 
But now they care for naught except 
The ancient name. To hear them speak 
Of that old relic, frail and weak, 
You needs must think its bastions still 
Frown down from some commanding 

hill, 
Filling with awe the youth and sage, 
Who knowledge seek in this wise age. 

But where embattlements should stand 
Is brushy growth, and weeds, and sand. 
Where once the troops were garrisoned, 
In warlike way caparisoned, 
Where beating drums assembled round 
A goodly band on muster ground, 
A silence, like of lonely tomb, 
Gives it an air of graveyard gloom. 



BAYSIDE VERSES 11 

Where once the brave and hardy strode, 
Is now the scarcely-viewed abode 
Of bats, and owls, and creeping things, 
And in the night the whirring wings 
Sweep in and out the casements, bare 
Of glass or else, and revel there, 
As reveled in the nights of old — 
Arrayed in blue and braids of gold— 
The fighting men, whose merry song 
Was joined by all the gathered throng. 

Where now the hootowl's doleful moan 
Sounds in the ruins sad and lone. 
Once was exultant music's strain 
The sound that iloated o'er the plain, 
And gliding feet the rythm felt 
Where only bravest manhood dwelt. 

As through the crevices, that ope 
For egress of the snails that grope, 
The storm wind of the winter howls, 
Coyotes gape their putrid jowls 
And loud their dire rejoicings swell,- 



12 BAYSIDE VERSES 

Like anguished shrieks from lowest 
hell. 

That is the Fort that stands today 
Above the waters of the bay, 
Growing - each year a little worse, 
As though it bears some awful curse 
That dooms it to be scorned of men 
Till leveled to the earth again. 

Grant, in his "Memoirs," mentioned not 

That he had known this lonely spot. 

Perchance he felt a certain shame 

At thoughts of even Humboldt's name. 

Be as it may, he soldiered here 

In that same Fort that long- gone year. 

And of what little now is said 

By gray-haired settlers, one is lead 

To think that in his younger days 

Ulysses caused a ruddy haze 

To permeate the village, where 

He spent the time he had to spare. 

And eke they hint at tables green, 



BAYSIDE VERSES 13 

And dice, and cards, and drinks be- 
tween, 
And hectic revels o'er the glass 
That helps the weary tme to pass; 
Of trysts with maids of low degree — - 
The dusky aborigine. 

They hint at all such lowly things 
That thoughts akin to anguish brings 
To one who cares to know no wrong 
Of one in loyal hearts so strong, 
For Grant is dear as few are dear' 
To all, and few will lend an ear 
To tales of doings indiscreet — 
To tales that none should e'er repeat. 
Better to leave them all unsaid, 
And they will die as Grant is dead. 

Upon a hill 'twixt town and sea 
The ruins stand. A gnarled pine tree 
Has grown amain before the door, 
Where sentries stood in days of yore, 
And waves its verdant needles where 
The stars and stripes once fanned the 



14 BAYSIDE VERSES 

air, 
And moans for dead and bygone days, 
As softly through its branches plays 
The wailing wind from o'er the bar, 
That bears its moans and sighs afar. 

Beneath the hill a road winds round, 
And farmers, on their way to town, 
Keep on the place an anxious eye, 
As though they feared to e'en go by. 
The plodding horse e'en looks askance, 
Casts on the spot a fearful glance, 
And as he draws the ruins near, 
Hurries by with a snort of fear. 
But in the night the bravest fail 
To pass the place without a quail, 
For they assert a potent spell, 
That chills belike a fun'ral knell, 
Wafts from thence like soaring death, 
To chill one with its grewsome breath. 

Fie on ye, folk, that you should wait 
While sinks the Fort in such a state! 
Out from your heedless dreams awake 



BAYSIDE VERSES 15 

And once again Fort Humboldt made 
The pride of all — the stronghold eld 
That once a soldier hero held. 
Mighty was he, though not just then, 
When he was much like other men. 
But Grant was Grant, and Humboldt 

Fort 
Should not be left to tempests' sport, 
To owls, and bats, and things unclean, 
To mold beneath the mosses green. 

Ruins are fair, when far away 

One views them, through the distance 

gray. 
Their mellow outlines 'gainst the sky 
Are blent with clouds that wander by 
In duns and golds and deepest blues, 
But in the north are soberer hues, 
For Nature's pigments ran near out 
Ere she had gone the land about. 
Here in the North are quiet tones, 
While in the kinder, warmer zones 
There lies a flush o'er lands and skies, 
And each one with the other vies 



16 BAYSIDE VERSES 

To see whose bright charmelian hue 
Will please the most who cares to 
view. 

Ruins are fair sometimes, but these 
Some lonely stroller mayhap sees 
And, disappointed, wonders why 
They do not let the old name die, 
Or else repair the shaky frame 
And keep it as they keep its name. 
If once again the roof were thatched, 
The windows set, the clapboards 

matched, 
The doors replaced, and weeds removed, 
The ones who love it will have proved 
They love it well. And then with pride 
Let them plant at the pine tree's side 
A goodly mast, whereon can wave 
The well-loved banner of the brave — 
The ensign bold whose crimson bars 
And azure flecked with silv'ry stars — 
Trat may be seen from Bay and Town, 
And all the vessels sailing down 
To breast the bar would colors dip. 



BAYSIDE VERSES 17 

'Twould give them luck upon their trip. 

And let a worthy man be there 
To give the place his honest care. 
And when the shades of night would 

fall, 
Then could he wind a bugle call. 
'Twere better far that "taps" should 

sound 
To spread a loyal thrill around 
Than that the owl's malignant cry 
Should float away and then reply 
To echoes drear from o'er the bay, 
And from the distant hills away. 



THE MAKER OF TAMALES. 

In the land of giant redwoods, 
Where the hungry, gnawing bandsaw 
Croons from early morn till even, 
Where they only talk of lumber 
And of ships that journey, laden 
With the produce of the sawmills — 



IS BAYSIDE VERSES 

In that land is an oasis, 

Like a green spot on the desert. 

From the land of rest and music, 
Where the twanging - of guitarros 
In the hands of caballeros 
Waft upon the air in moonlight, 
Where the senorita coyly 
Hides her face to veil the blushes 
With her silken, fringed revosa, 
Came a maker of tamales. 

O'er the valleys and the mountains, 
Up the sea along the Westland, 
Where the surf beats on the shingle, 
Where the breakers lash the headlands, 
Where the air is damper, cooler, 
Came the maker of tamales 
To the log-filled Bay of Humboldt, 
To the City of Eureka. 

In the sound of buzzing sawmills 
Started he a place for making 
Such a morsel as the Northmen 



BAYSIDE VERSES 19 

Ne'er had wot of, or partaken. 

The ingredients he garnered 

From the meadow and the farmyard, 

And the oriental pickers 

Plucked for him the pimiente, 

And the peons o'er the mountains 

Culled for him the ripest chilis. 

On the muchly^used piedro 

Ground he maiz that well had softened, 

And he mixed it with the chili, 

And un poco de gallina, 

And an olive that was taken 

From the tree ere it had ripened 

And its coat had turned to sable. 

Took he then the fragrant mixture, 
And encompassed it in cornhusks, 
Wrapped it well and tied it tightly 
With a fragment of the cover 
That was strongest and the sweetest, 
Steamed he then the yellow morsel 
O'er a vessel where the cornsilk 



20 BAYSIDE VERSES 

Simmered so it lent its fragrance 
To the husk and corn it loved so. 

Thus he made his famed tamales 
For the people of the Northland, 
And the Northmen, and the strangers, 
And the Northland youths and maidens 
Gather there beyond the twilight 
For the well-beloved tamale. 

In the even, while the incense 

Of gallina, corn and chili 

Hover round the throng expectant, 

Floats there out from deeper shadows 

Sounds of music of the Southland, 

And the undulating rythm 

And the incense of tamales 

Float together as for ages 

They have floated in the Southland, 

Where the very air is music 

And the air is heavy-laden 

Wnth the incense of tamales. 



BATSIDE VERSES 21 

THE OLD CRAFT AND THE NEW. 

There sails a craft o'er the murm'ring 
wave 

In sight of the western strand. 
There lies a. wreck that awaits a grave 

In the silently shifting sand. 

One is a bride, caressing the sea 

With many a fervent kiss, 
Climbing the swell with a youthful glee 

And leaping o'er each abyss. 

And one is a mossy and battered craft 
That lies by the moaning bar, 

Dead to the days when the same seas 
laughed 
At her pranks in the seas afar. 

But once she had worn her bridal veil, 
When she sprang to the bridegroom's 
breast. 
Then she was young; she was blithe 
and hale, 
With never a thought of rest. 



22 BAYSIDE VERSES 

And once she had danced from shore 
to shore, 
And gamboled in distant seas, 
Laughing at calms and at tempests' 
roar, 
And wooing the fresh'ning breeze. 

But now she rests by the fickle deep, 
Embraced by the moss and weeds, 

Sleeping as only the tired can sleep 
To rest from their life-long deeds. 

And ever the song that the sad winds 
sing 
Is of rest — and rest — and rest. 
A peace to the tired will the sand grave 
bring 
To the hulk on the sea-beat West. 

What of the bride of the groom, the 
i sea, 

That spreads out her snowy wings 
And flies to the blue in an ecstacy, 

Nor cares what the wild wind sings? 



BAYSIDE VERSES 23 



Perhaps she will pause in her happy 
flight 
With a tear for the one asleep. 
Perhaps none will mourn but the 
stormy night, 
Which will weep — and weep — and 
weep. 

Off where the sea and the sky are wed 
The young craft bounds away, 

With never a care where her ways are 
sped, 
Nor whence at the close of day. 

Whose is the brush that can well por- 
tray 
This picture beside the sea, 
Of death and the craft that molds 
away, 
Of life and the one care-free? 






24 BAYSIDE VERSES 

THE PENINSULA. 

A narrow strip of drifting sand, 

Between the bay and sea, 
Juts from the northern, wooded land. 

And seems to me to be 
A spectre finger, pointing back 
Along the steamer-trodden track, 
Hiding the oaken bones that stack 

Upon the hidden lea. 

Down from the woods in winters' floods 

The fallen giants dash, 
Unmindful how the spoondrift scuds, 

Or how the tempests lash, 
And seek to ride the mighty deep, 
A menace to the crafts that creep, 
To climb its peaks, its valleys leap — 

Yet on the sandspit crash. 

The thin peninsula prevails 
To stay the ocean's wrath. 

It stands against the wintry gales, 
Nor knows it aught of scath. 



BAYSIDE VERSES 25 

The waves that beat upon the strand 
Retreat before its staying hand, 
Pondering much that it should stand 
For long to block its path. 

And stall that spectre finger becks, 

And points my homeward way. 
Mossy with olden vessels' wrecks 

That bleach upon the bay, 
And pointing southward o'er the foam, 
It bids me never more to roam, 
But get me to my southern home. 
" Begone ! " it seems to say. 

Have patience, spectre finger; bide 

Until the summer's past; 
Until upon your seaward side 

The waves beat fierce and fast. 
Then I will take the path you show, 
Nor mind the winds that wildly blow, 
Nor stormy tides that ebb and flow, 

For calms will come at last. 



BAYSIDE VERSES 



ON STEAMER DAY. 

On steamer day a throng is on the 
pier, 
Eager to be the last to say fare- 
well. 
A tender look, a wave, a glist'ning 
tear, 
And then there rings the pilot's start- 
ing bell. 

The great "blue Peter," waving at the 
head, 
Is struck, and slowly draws the craft 
away. 
Some few last words are shouted, tears 
are shed, 
And then the steamer hurries down 
the bay. 

The crowd thins out and soon the dock 
is bare, 
Except for some lorn souls that wait 
to get 






BAYSIDE VERSES 27 

A last sad look, and those will linger 
there 
And kerchiefs wave that with their 
tears are wet. 

Then those few go, with heavy hearts 
and eyes, 
And leave but one to shed his tears 
alone. 
And he weeps on, and gazes through 
his sighs, 
To seaward, then departs with one 
last moan. 

The craft has sailed; deserted is the 
pier; 
The west wind moans and croons 
along the bay; 
The wheeling gulls swing low and set- 
tle near, 
And thus it is upon each steamer day. 



28 BAYSIDE VERSES 

THE GULL ON THE PILE. 

A gray gull mourns on a moss-fringed 
pile 
For its mate that comes no more. 
He wheeled away for a while, a while, 
But he stopped by the seal lined 
shore. 

The west wind bore on its wings that 
day 

The doomed gull's frenzied cry. 
The lone gull heard on the distant bay 

And wheeled to the west on high. 

The wild surf roared and the cold 
winds shrilled, 
But naught of her mate was there. 
A long, long watch, and her breast 
was filled 
With a leaden and dire despair. 

But yet she longs, on the pile afar, 
For the mate who had left her side, 



BAYSIDE VERSES 29 

Listing - the moan of the fretful bar 
And watching the changing tide. 



THE REDWOODS IN THE BAY. 

How passive in the waters of the bay 
The monster redwoods lie! Time 

was they flung 
Their hardy arms aloft the hills 
among, 
And kissed the sunlight in the welcome 

day. 
And they grew green while all around 
grew gray. 
Ere Christ was born those trees were 

far from young. 
Yet lived they on, nor moved from 
whence they sprung 
As passed the years and centuries 
away. 

But when the woodsman's ringing 
blade they felt, 



30 BAYSIDE VERSES 

The spell was gone, and with an an- 
guished moan, 
They struck the earth where ages long 
they dwelt, 
Falling before the woodsman slight 
and lone. 
Stopped by a boom, lest far abroad 

they'll stray, 
They sleep upon the waters of the bay. 

• mm m< 

HUMBOLDT'S "PLEASANT" CLIME. 

Who would remain in lands of low'ring 
skies 
When but a few short leagues adown 

the sea 
There is a summer land that seems to 
be 
But little short of earthly Paradise? 
Had I the wings with which the eagle 
flies, 
I'd stretch my plumes above in fer- 
vent glee, 



BAYSIDE VERSES 31 

And, shaking fogs, and mists, and 
storm-clouds free, 
I'd soar in basts to where that fair land 
lies. 

Ah, tell me not of Humboldt's pleasant 
elime! 
Another adjective would I apply. 

Perhaps 'tis pleasant in the winter- 
time, 

But I have watched a summer drear 
go by, 

And would have known it not had I 
not known 

The months that passed were naught 
but summer's own. 



UNLUCKY JIM. 

Of all of the Jonahs who ever were 
born, 
The worst one was Unlucky Jim. 



32 



BAYSIDE VERSES 



He'd take all the chances, however for- 
lorn, 
For all of them looked good to him. 

No matter how often he'd switch in 

his bet, 
No matter which side he would pick, 
The one he was sure of was certain 

to get 
Defeat, then Unlucky would kick. 

Elections and yacht races, prize fights 
and such, 
Were where he would back the wrong 
end. 
His salary dwindled; 'twas not very 
much. 
He lost what he wanted to spend. 

Some "sure thing" he'd think of, and 
hoping to win, 
He'd go to the Major and say: 

"I'll bet you ten dollars " "I'll take 

take your bet, Jim," 
The Major would say right away. 



BAYSIDE VERSES 33 

MY BRILLIANT POEM. 

What did I care, although the hour was 
late? 
At last my plodding- brain a theme 

had caught 
That needs must fill the world with 
happy thought. 
I would to garb it well in verse ornate, 
And culled my powers at a rapid rate. 
I hurried, somewhat faster than I 

ought, 
Along the wharf, as metre best I 
sought, 
Not dreaming of the great surprise in 
wait. 

A plank was missing, but I knew it 
not; 
The pinions of the winged steed 
fanned my brow. 
Right then my brilliant thought I well 
forgot, 
As fell I through that hole. But any- 
how, 



34 BAYSIDE VERSES 

Though sorry for my theme's unhappy 
lot, 
I gained a bath — and cold that lasts 
e'en now. 



THE FORBIDDEN LAND. 

The British vessel Collingrove, 
A bark from Chinese Seas, 

With all her tackle snugly rove 
And manned by all Chinese, 

Awaits a cargo by the mill. 

Her roomy hold is slow to fill, 

Yet toil her sailors with a will, 
Like busy working beees. 

On Sunday, when the droning mill 

Is sunk in silent rest, 
And all the water front is still 

And sailor men are dressed 
In gay attire, and rush to seek 



BAYSIDE VERSES 35 

The gin mills, where, throughout the 

week, 
The wind has told them places reek 
With steins with foamy crest, 

The little Oriental tar 
Stands by the landward rail 

And hears the shouts from nearby bar, 
Or notes the small boy's hale, 

But dares not place a. foot on shore, 

For there they thirst for Chinese gore. 

He hopes 'tis but a short time more 
Ere they will homeward sail. 

The little yellow man looks o'er 

The gray forbidden land, 
And wonders why the vessel bore 

Him hither to this strand. 
He hears the small boy's daring jeers, 
He hears carousing sailors' cheers, 
And something that resembles tears 

Falls on his ochre hand. 

" Je Cli ! " you almost hear him say, 



36 BAYSIDE VERSES 

" Euleka boy, him bad ! 
If Wun Lung- he go sho' today, 

Da lilboy he get mad 
An' flo him lock, an' callum name, 
An' bimeby plenty mo' boy came 
An' flo mo' lock, an' alle same 

It make me belly sad ! " 

And so upon the fo'c'sl head 

He yearns for sailing day. 
He hopes to soon be homeward sped 

On waters far away. 
And o'er his rice, perchance, he'll hold 
A session on the Northland cold, 
And swear he'll ne'er again unfold 

A sail for Humboldt Bay. 




BAYSIDE VERSES 37 

THEIR ONE REGRET. 

The "Times" crew goes in mourning 
on a certain day each year, 
And weep and wail and sigh with 
one accord, 
Because they were not present at the 
fatal place, and near 
Enough to help to crucify Our Lord. 




38 BAYSIDE VERSES 

L'ENVOY. 

The hour is late; my ink is low; 
My weary hand is growing slow. 
No more I'll take my lonely way 
Along the shores of Humboldt Bay. 
Whatever songs are left unsung, 
Wbateveer praise is left unrung, 
Some other tongue and hand may do, 
For in the Northland I am through. 

When I am gone, perhaps a few 
Of those of whom I better knew 
May sorry feel, and even say, 
" We miss his face beside the Bay." 

Perhaps another poet wight 
May stroll by day and sit by night 
To watch the waves or hear them beat 
Against the piles beneath his feet. 
Perhaps he, too, will paeans sing, 
And better make his harpstrings ring 
In chords that all perforce must hear, 
Though care they not to lend an ear. 



BAYSIDE VERSES 39 



If such should come, a path is made 
Where oft' my strolling feet have 

strayed, 
And may he feel the same content 
Along the wharves where I have spent 
Many a pleasant hour or so, 
Joyous if western winds would blow, 
Pensive if damp'ning fogs would fall, 
But in contentment through it all. 

But no two eyes will see the same. 
What pleases one is somewhat tame 
To others, yet we all agree, 
There is enchantment by the sea 
That charms us all. I love it well; 
I love the calm and stately swell; 
The roaring surf; the choppy wave; 
The tides that tule marshes lave; 
The very air that sweeps the land 
And says the sea is close at hand. 

'Tis little wonder, then, that I 
Should love to stroll the waters by. 
The lullaby to me they croon 



40 BAYSIDE VERSES 

Is sweeter than the sweetest tune 
That brass or string has ever played; 
That olden masters ever made. 

And " now I lay me down " my pen, 
Nor will I finger you again 
Until once more I lonely feel, 
And once again shall o'er me steal 
A great desire to write the things 
That rampant through my system 

spring. 
Tou need not further patience lend. 
My reader, for you've reached 

THE END. 




SEP e 1903 







HE 






BHgaw 



•V. iras 



W&$M&3ia$& SP safe ■■■■■'■>■•■■■'•'- 




HHHH 

gfl@P « I! a -■ -- 







1 |S§p 
§H&ra i ■>:-.■■•.-• 









buss® 



iiii 



